


Bloodlust

by Doilooklikeicareatall, dontbecooler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Blood, Blood Drinking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Vampire!Lock, vampire!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doilooklikeicareatall/pseuds/Doilooklikeicareatall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbecooler/pseuds/dontbecooler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home to a distraught Sherlock and it takes an unexpected turn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

> I was RPing on Omegle and this happened and I believe it's perfect and thought that I should share it. doilooklikeicareatall is the other author and she wrote John and I wrote Sherlock. ENJOY xox

Bloodlust

**_John, come to Baker street now. Something is terribly wrong -SH_ **

_What is it, then? I'm on my way back from work now. -JW_

**_I don't know John, just get home as soon as possible please. -SH_ **

_Okay, I'm coming. Are you hurt? -JW_

**_I. Don't. Know. Are you almost home?? SH_ **

_Yes, I am almost home. Calm down, Sherlock. JW_

 

Sherlock sighed, throwing the phone down on the couch. He went to go check in the mirror again, the face looking back at him his, but also not. The irises were too dark, almost black, and his skin had paled considerably, more than normal. He went back into the lounge, taking deep breaths. He had awoken in this room, not remembering anything other than a blackness overwhelming him the last night. He flinched as the door flew open, John standing in the doorway.

John hurried to Sherlock's side, uttering softly,  
"Jesus, you look terrible, Sherlock. Have you got a fever or something?"  
He pressed the back of his palm to Sherlock's forehead. It was strangely cold.

Sherlock jumped at the touch.  
"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," Sherlock choked out. He began to pace, fingers pulling his hair so roughly he was sure he might pull it out.  
"What's wrong with me John?" He asked desperately, looking at his friend, who stood frozen.

John frowned worriedly.  
"I don't know, Sherlock. You're too pale, you don't have a temperature, you're still standing up. None of it makes any sense, you look half dead."

Sherlock glared at his friend.  
"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," he said quietly. Beckoning for John to come closer he pulled down his collar. Two black holes were visible on the skin, and Sherlock winced as he saw Johns expression.

John gaped at the puncture marks in his friend's skin. "It..." he stuttered out, "It shouldn't be possible."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"Don't you think I went over everything before came over?? Of course it's impossible, yet the evidence is staring us right in the face."  
With a sigh Sherlock flopped onto the couch. He put his face in his hands, not enjoying the fact he was very aware of Johns heartbeat.

John crouched down beside Sherlock on the couch, pressing two fingers gently to Sherlock's neck, where his pulse should have been. There wasn't one. He forced himself to remain calm, and stated softly, "You're going to need to feed soon."

Johns voice faded out as soon as he touched Sherlock again. Sherlocks only thoughts were concentrated on the warmth of his neck. Arm flicking up at impossible speed, he gripped Johns wrist. He cocked an eyebrow, standing up and stroking Johns neck.  
"I will wont I?" He purred, pulling John closer, feeling his friends heart beat in his ears like a drum, calling him, begging him.

John closed his eyes, leaning into the touch without meaning to.  
"Just... don't take too much.." he murmured.  
It was better that Sherlock got blood from him, rather than anyone else. He didn't want the news getting out that Sherlock was... well, a vampire, and a small part of him wanted to be the only person that could give Sherlock something like this.

Sherlock frowned. His instincts told him prey was supposed to run, do cower and be afraid. This human was not afraid.  
"Stupid human," Sherlock spat, pushing him away.  
Though his throat craved for blood, it wasn't worth it unless the person was terrified. A thought blew up in Sherlocks suddenly animalistic mind. Pain. Pain creates terror. Stalking forward slowly he spoke.  
"How does John want to be Hurt? How does John want to be broken?" He whispered.

John raised a brow, opening his eyes to look at Sherlock.  
"You're being awfully facetious, Sherlock. If you plan on hurting me, go ahead. Stop blabbering on about it."  
He smiled slightly to himself, as a part of his brain whispered to him that this was a bad idea, and that he could end up dead because of it.

Sherlock paused. Cocky human. He would pay for that. Sherlock leapt forward with lightening speed, throwing Johns body like it was a bag of flour. John hit the table with a satisfying thump, and the small groan that came afterwards sent shocks through Sherlocks body. This, was more like it.  
"Care to talk back again John?"  
Sherlock asked, straightening up. A small part of Sherlocks mind was chanting 'John Is friend dont hurt John', but the animal pushed down the thoughts easily.

John ignored the stinging pain in his back, and smirked.  
"I do care to. You're being slow. What do you plan on doing that's taking so damn long?"  
His voice held the slightest hint of strain, and his brain was now shouting at him that this was a bad idea, that Sherlock wasn't thinking clearly, and was probably going to kill him. But the majority of his brain shushed that part, the majority being the thrill seeking part, the part that craved the danger that Sherlock was providing.

Sherlock laughed at this, taking measured steps forward. Johns heart was beating fast, sure, but for a different reason.  
"You like this," Sherlock whispered, crouching down to be at Johns height, "You're into masochism?" Sherlock continued, pulling John up so he was standing.  
Breathing lightly on Johns neck, he grazed his teeth along it, not letting his canines out just yet. He did though, move so his face was level with Johns, so they were only inches apart. He dug his finger into Johns cheek, kissing the blood that dribbled down. John didn't dare move as Sherlock licked at the wound, a moan of delight coming from the back of his throat at the taste.

John felt a strange sense of calm as Sherlock ran his tongue over the wound on his cheek. It was crazy, utterly insane what he was doing, but Sherlock, as always, was right. He liked this. He needed it. He chuckled, and murmured lowly,  
"Get on with it, Sherlock. You're getting boring, just sitting here."  
He didn't move, wouldn't move. He wanted Sherlock to take control, as he always did.

Sherlock frowned at this. What an interesting human. Interesting indeed. Deciding to do something that John wouldn't expect Sherlock pulled back for a second, only so he could crash his lips against Johns. Human would not expect kiss. He bit down on Johns lower lip, licking up the blood.

John closed his eyes tightly at the rough kiss, crushing his lips back against Sherlock's, hands at his sides.

Sherlock spat and pushed John away as he kissed back.  
"You are one fucked up person," Sherlock growled, going to the kitchen and getting a sharp knife.  
His teeth would do a more adequate job, but he didn't want to get carried away.  
"Get on the fucking couch then John," ordered Sherlock, watching Johns eyes flick to the knife and back to Sherlocks face. He didn't hesitate to do as he was told. At this Sherlock made an approving noise,

John settled onto the couch, eyes locked onto the knife Sherlock held at his side. The part of his brain protesting that he would get killed had fallen eerily quiet, and left him with nothing but the part of him craving this. He felt as if he might have lost it. He may have lost it from the moment he saw the wounds in Sherlock's neck. But at the moment, he honestly couldn't care less.

Sherlock strolled gracefully forward.  
"Top off," he said, and John hastily complied, only lying back down when his torso was bare. Sherlock admires the pinkness of it, straddling it with ease as he placed the knife over the sternum, dragging it down with enough pressure to leave a bright crimson line down the middle of the humans chest. Sherlock watched as it pooled red, tongue darting out to touch his lips. This was going to test his self control.

John closed his eyes at the first touch of the cool knife, hissing out a breath. The feeling of it cutting into him should have felt repulsive, painful, but he felt nothing.  
"Get. On. With. It." he muttered, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

Sherlock tutted.  
"You are in no place to order me around John," Sherlock told him in a flippant tone.  
He watched the blood begin to slide down onto the couch with a curious expression. Letting a finger go down and touch it he brought it back to his mouth. It tasted delightful. Again, he did it, but instead he smeared the blood over Johns chest, watching John to see if it was hurting him. His face was curiously blank. So, instead of cleaning up the wound, instead Sherlock drew another line, right next to the first, with the knife, waiting for some reaction from his prey. Maybe he was boring after all.

"I'm the food source, I can order you about all I like." he responded, voice soft, and curiously devoid of any emotion.  
He didn't even feel the knife. Perhaps he'd gone into shock earlier. Maybe he was already dead, and this was a fantasy he had constructed. But most likely he had just gone mad.

Sherlock felt anger pool in his gut.  
"You are the injured hobbit, and I am the dragon. Do not test me," Sherlock growled, letting the bloodstained knife trail along Johns jaw. Sherlock let himself lick that trail off, and then he brought his head down, slowly cleaning up the blood that escaped Johns cuts. It was a heavenly taste indeed.

He chuckled darkly.  
"I appreciate the literature reference, but I couldn't care less. Do what you like, Sherlock. I'm not afraid, nor will I be."

Sherlock pulled up his lip. Might as well get on with it then. Making sure he had sealed the cuts properly with his saliva, Sherlock drew up, breathing slowly. He had to keep this interesting human alive, for further examination. So he let his teet into Johns neck, lapping up the blood with almost complete abandon. As soon as the animal was sated, it jumped across the room, a look of horror on its face. The real Sherlock was back, and he was disgusted by himself.  
"John?" He asked quietly, not sure if the pale still form in front of him would reply. He didn't want his lip to tremble, but it did when his friend didn't reply.  
"John?" He called louder, staying stock still in the shadows of the room.

John opened one eye, and smiled softly.  
"There you are." he murmured. "Good to have you back."

Sherlock felt his knees weaken beneath him, and he let them fall, breathing heavily. The taste on his lips should not have tasted nice but oh god it did.  
"I'm so sorry John," he whispered loudly, knowing that he was a monster.  
He fell forwards onto the floor, feeling the most empty he had in a long time. He stared at the carpet, and didn't even notice as John got up from the couch, swaying as he approached Sherlock.

John sat down beside him, and began running a hand soothingly through Sherlock's curls.  
"Hey, it's alright. You weren't yourself." he murmured comfortingly.

Sherlock shook his head.  
"How long until the animal is back. What if he- he kills you next time, and I'll come back and you're dead."  
Sherlock felt his throat clog up, and he cleared it roughly.  
"I couldn't deal with that John."  
He sat up, shamelessly embracing his friend because he felt this might be the last time he'd get the chance.

John hugged him back as tightly as he could, burying his face in Sherlock's cold neck.  
"It's fine, Sherlock. We'll deal with it. I would never let him kill me, I promise you."

Sherlock felt his heart lift at the words even though he didn't believe them completely.  
"We'll get through this?" Sherlock asked John, knowing that his friend would give him the optimistic version, even if it wasn't true.

He shrugged.  
"We'll try." John knew he wasn't meant to sugarcoat the words, that it wouldn't help.  
But he had to protect Sherlock, just a little.

Sherlock felt himself grow fatigued, even though vampire's weren't supposed to sleep.  
"Me, a vampire," Sherlock chuckled as he felt his eyes grow heavy,  
"Who would have thought?"  
John scoffed above him, Sherlock going into a trance like state still in the embrace of his friend.


End file.
